


my mother's face is like stone (my father comes and he goes)

by StressedOutPixie



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Short, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StressedOutPixie/pseuds/StressedOutPixie
Summary: Brief songfic about Billy's life and past based on "This was a Home Once" by Bad Suns.Billy returns home and finds himself struggling to adjust to being back in Hawkins. Unsure of where to go, he turns to the only other place he knows: his ex's, otherwise known as the Harrington's.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. my bedroom looks the same

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I started this sometime in... November(?) of 2019 and just now finished the first installment so if I'm slow... I am sorry. Feel free to leave comments and suggestions! I plan on using the whole song, so stay tuned for that. Enjoy!

_My bedroom looks the same_

_But that is not how it feels_

Chipping paint in one corner. A poster tacked to the wall. Disheveled blankets on the bed. It’s like Billy had never left even though he’d moved out of Hawkins three years ago. The only thing that showed the passing of time was the thin film of dust that covered the dresser and the particles that drifted lazily through a beam of sunlight. Billy stood in the open doorway and took a deep breath. Even the smell was mostly the same, somehow, just more musty and stale. Stepping in gingerly, as if not to disturb the memories that fogged the air like smoke, he felt almost overwhelmed. This used to be his safe place—where he had his secret stash of cigarettes for when Neil stole his, where he would blare music to drown out the screaming inside and outside of his head, and where he would hide from anyone or anything. Now the space felt tainted and nauseating. His very presence was interrupting this room’s decomposition. He was reawakening its purpose again, reminding it of what it was supposed to do. God, how he wanted the cycle to stop.

_I guess the dog is now dead_

_My little sister, in heels_

Just before he sat on the bed, Max screamed for him somewhere from the bowels of the house. It was late, far too late for her to be yelling, but she was young, vibrant, and going out that night. All was right in her world, glimmering and shining and welcoming Max with open arms. Billy couldn’t bring himself to tell her that it was all smoke and mirrors. Max yelled again, this time closer, so Billy answered in a dismissive tone, knowing she would come flying around the corner any second. Her hair came into view first, a red blur against floral wallpaper. Next came the pale yellow of her cropped tank top, then the acid wash jeans, then blindingly white tennis shoes. When all movement had stopped, a frown decorated her face just like the glitter on her eyelids.

“What d’you want, dickhead?” Billy sighed.

_She drives her own car now_

_Wears a ring in her nose_

“Have you seen my keys?”

“Why would I know where your keys are?” Billy retorted, a snarl beginning to form on his face.

“I don’t know, it was just a question, God,” she spat, rolling her eyes, the ring in her nose reflecting light and seeming to be mimicking the path of her irises. “No need to get your panties in a twist about it.”

Then she was gone just like she’d come, in a rush of color and passion. Billy remembered when she was only in seventh grade or so, hair always in her face and a skateboard always under one arm. Since she had gotten a car, the skateboard had been laid to rest in its trunk, reminding Billy vaguely of when a small fish was devoured by a larger fish. The skateboard’s spot by the door had been taken over by tennis shoes and forgotten tubes of lip gloss that fell out of jacket pockets. 

It was like time had touched everything in the house but somehow managed to overlook the room Billy was still stood in. 

_Mom and dad play pretend_

_But it's over and we know_

Even Neil and Susan had been affected; Susan’s hair was showing strands of grey and Neil’s crow’s feet had started to chisel their way down his face. They still acted like Max was a child and Billy had never left. If they didn’t upset the time capsule of Billy’s room, if they didn’t comment on Billy’s new tattoo, if they kept quiet about Max’s piercing, nothing would change. 

Despite this, Billy could tell they knew. They saw how Billy hadn’t been home since Easter. They saw how Max was always with her friends. They just decided to dismiss it like the notices they received about late payments on bills and utilities. It was a pretty facade painted by skilled artists so that only they knew what was fake and what was real. Spectators were fooled. Onlookers passed by without a second glance.

No one knew unless they experienced it or were told. 

_This was a home once_

_Now the ceilings falling, I feel the rain_

Billy remembered when they had first come to Hawkins. He’d remembered hating it so _so_ much, and expecting Max to hate it too. Except she didn’t. She made friends. She established herself while Billy got into that stupid turf war with Harrington. 

_Harrington._

Damn Steve Harrington. 

Billy could easily recall the number of times that his fist connected with Harrington’s soft, quick-to-smile face. It was far too simple, the way his knuckles splattered Steve’s jaw with bruises and blood. He didn’t know why he did it at first, Billy just thought it was his way of channeling unhealthy aggression. Later, he soon saw that he idealized King Steve. The way his hair was just so, the way his eyes seemed to sparkle, the way the muscles in his arms rippled as he played basketball. Steve was absolute perfection in Billy’s eyes. Instead of his knuckles leaving marks on Steve’s jaw, Billy wanted it to be his lips. Wanted to touch and to hold and to keep—to make a home. 

For a glowing, ethereal period of time, it worked out that way. It was nearing the end of the school year in ‘85. Rain was pelting Hawkins, water drenching the whole town like the skies had a personal vendetta against Indiana. Steve had been particularly aggravating that day causing Billy to grab Steve by the collar and drag him outside, into the rain, and grind his shoulders into the brick. With his hand still bunched in front of Steve’s shirt, Billy kissed Steve, his body acting before he had time to think it through. Surprisingly, Steve had melted into the kiss like an icicle when the first thaw comes in the spring. 

At first, that’s all it was. An occasional hook-up every couple of weeks, nothing more. Then every couple of weeks became every couple of days, and they stopped messing around and started just talking. Billy savored it. Everything else around him felt like it was falling to pieces but he had Steve. His Stevie. That was all he needed. 

_This was a home once_

_With so much love comes so much pain_

The summer sun rose and brought Steve and Billy closer. When Steve wasn’t working at Scoops Ahoy, he was with Billy. The summer of ‘85 was stained with sunshine, cigarettes, and mingling breath. Steve’s parents were out of town almost the whole summer, leaving the kingdom of their home to be ruled by Steve and Billy. Their crowns were tousled hair; their robes discarded t-shirts. Royal elegance was not found in their clothes, instead it was discovered in moments. An extended pinkie finger when holding a glass of whiskey. The smoke curling from a forgotten cigarette. The sun rays caressing long eyelashes, fanning effortlessly across rosy cheeks. 

Billy used to think the concept of a golden summer was ridiculous, for losers, for dumbasses. 

Then he had that golden summer with Steve. He couldn’t think of any other way to say it. Fleeting memories crossed his mind sometimes, lingering just long enough to cause Billy’s heart to clench and breath to catch before the thoughts flitted away, leaving Billy feeling empty. 

It was late August when it all came crashing down. 

It was still scorching hot outside and humid as hell. Muggy, Billy recalled Steve mentioning in passing once. The only thing anyone wanted to do was lay half naked inside, the fan stirring sticky, languid air around the room. Steve was sprawled lazily across the couch, boxers sitting low on his hips, chest shiny with sweat, and hair sticking up in peculiar places from the humidity. 

“Hey,” Billy greeted, tossing his keys on the coffee table and kicking off a shoe. 

Steve grunted in response, giving Billy a quick nod before sitting up and stretching. 

“No work today?” Billy asked. 

“Nope. Something about being closed for maintenance?” Steve gestured dismissively with one hand. “But who gives a shit, really. I get to be with you.”

Billy’s chest tightened and a small smile ghosted across his face. 

“Yeah, who gives a shit?” Flopping down next to Steve, he wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulders. 

Steve chuckled and tipped his head over on Billy’s shoulder. 

Billy didn’t remember much after that, only his own clothes being discarded, hot breath, and sloppy kisses. Somewhere, though, toward evening, the mood shifted. There was a heaviness in the air that wasn’t caused by the humidity. Every breath Billy took felt labored, like there was water pooling in the bottom of his lungs. They were eating dinner in silence, cold pizza out of the box. Maybe it was Steve getting ready to go get a real job with his dad. Maybe it was Billy packing to leave Hawkins. 

Maybe it was nothing at all, only inevitability.

Billy couldn’t even recall what the argument had started over, only that half-way through his third piece of pizza, his voice started getting louder and so did Steve’s. The pizza slice was forgotten in the box and tensions rose and harsh words were flung like daggers. Billy felt each and every word pierce his subconscious. Instead of calming down, apologizing, taking a _damn breath_ , Billy kept shouting and screaming and yelling, even as hot tears boiled down his cheeks. 

He slammed the door as he left. He slammed his car door, too, and slammed his foot on the gas. After he was out of sight, he slammed on the break, slammed his hands on the steering wheel and cursed until the words he threw at his Stevie came back and lacerated his throat, leaving him numb and raw.


	2. my mother's face is like stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you for the encouragement on the last chapter. Here is another one, brief mentions of abuse, so please be careful! Enjoy!

_ My mother's face is like stone _

_ My father comes and he goes _

“Billy! I didn’t know you were coming home today,” Susan warbled, snapping Billy to the present. Her face looked stiff, the smile on her lips threatening to fall off and shatter on the carpet. 

“Yeah,” Billy took a wobbling breath. “I’m back.” A moment of silence passed while Billy ran a hand through his hair, trying to hide the shake in his fingers. “Where’s Neil?”

“Oh, you know how he is,” she chuckled, though it sounded more like the wings of a trapped bird colliding with the cage than a laugh. “He’s just always coming and going!”

“Will he be back anytime soon?” 

“I… I don’t know.” 

They sat and stared at each other for one, two, three breaths, Susan’s plastic expression beginning to melt and Billy’s exhaustion causing his entire being to sag. The darkness of the unlit hallway behind her began to sink into the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, aging her more than the years ever could. 

“I’ll let you know if I hear from him,” Susan sighed, then vanished like an apparition trapped in this plane of existence.

Billy didn’t hate Susan, not really. She was surviving just like him, doing what she knew. Why she was still with Neil, Billy couldn’t tell. He wasn’t the only one hiding bruises behind collars and sleeves and watches and curls. She stayed and kept staying while Billy ran and cowered in another city. She was stronger than Billy ever was, or maybe more desperate. Regardless, Billy had some amount of respect for her. 

_ And our neighbors now they moved away to Mexico _

_ Reality comes once I finally hear _

_ "Son I've been waiting for this moment for 13 years" _

After Billy had gone to the bathroom, done some semblance of a nightly routine, and climbed into bed, he heard the door open and shut heavily. Footsteps pounded on the stairs,  _ bang, bang, bang _ ,  _ bang _ . Some part of him was sent back to being a child, before he came to Hawkins and before his mom disappeared. Those same footsteps coming up a different staircase. The door rattling on its hinges as it was thrown open. Billy shrinking in bed and screwing his eyes shut. 

He was doing the same thing now, burrowing deeper in his covers and squeezing his eyes closed even though that would do nothing to help him. The footsteps continued past Billy’s room and into the master bedroom where Billy could hear Susan’s muffled greeting followed by Neil’s slurred reply. Drunk. He could almost smell the bourbon seeping through the walls. Susan was doing her best, still speaking in hushed, gentle tones, but Neil was still being loud and unwieldy. Billy swore he heard his name and his whole body stiffened. The footsteps came crashing closer again, the doorknob jiggling as Neil fumbled to open it. Finally, tired of delaying the inevitable, Billy hauled himself out of bed and opened the door, Neil stumbling into the room. Billy’s nostrils flared and he inhaled sharply but said nothing. 

Neil gurgled out some incoherent words, his eyes unfocused and a dopey smile on his face. He approached Billy, a hand going out to touch Billy’s shoulder, but he stepped aside and crossed his arms. 

Billy heard himself talking before he realized he was speaking, but his tone was level and cool. “What do you want?”

“To say hi to my son,” he garbled. 

“You said hi. Now get out.” Billy’s skin crawled as Neil came closer again, this time his arm snaking around Billy’s waist. 

“But I jus’ got back… I’ve been waiting for you to come home,” he whined. 

“Get. Out.” Billy shoved Neil off, repulsion beginning to manifest itself in his voice. 

“But—”

“Get.  _ OUT, _ ” Billy shouted, his heart stampeding in his rib cage. He kept repeating the words in his head, over and over again.  _ Get out. Get out. Get out. _

“I—” Billy panicked as Neil came close again, pushed him away, then rushed down the stairs as fast as he could. Yanking on his jacket and snatching his keys off the hook by the door, he was gone before Neil had even made it down the steps. 

As he drove around Hawkins, his breath returned to some semblance of normality and his heart rate slowed. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t have anywhere to go, really. He had burned all his bridges here long ago, except for the narrow, rickety one he had with Neil, Susan, and Max. Something in him knew that he had burned that one now, too. Doused the whole thing in gasoline and threw a whole pack of lit matches onto it. Now he was watching the flames lick up the wood, watching it begin to crumble and fall into the chasm beneath, the decaying remains like asteroids hurting into the darkness of space. 

_ This was a home once _

_Can I say something to change your mind?_

When he parked his car, it was in the Harrington’s driveway. 

The house sat in complete darkness and stillness. It was just like it was three years ago, quiet and undisturbed like a museum. Something about it felt eerie and otherworldly, though Billy couldn’t put his finger on what it was. The unlit windows glared down at him, condemning him for words he couldn’t take back. The door that once seemed so welcoming now felt more like the scale that resides at the gates of the underworld. His heart on one side, a feather on the other. If his heart was light enough, he escaped damnation. Right now, his heart was so heavy it would crash through the Harrington's deck and sentence him to the hell he deserved after what he’d done. 

He was about to put his car in reverse and go find an empty parking lot to sleep in when a light in the upper level turned on. 

Steve’s window. The only other car in the driveway was Steve’s. That meant that the person peeking through the curtains was Steve Harrington. His Stevie. 

An internal battle was waging. He could go up to the door, he could knock, he could apologize, he could soothe the aching that he’s had in his chest for far too long. Or he could leave. He could put his car in reverse and squeal his tires as he raced away from this problem, just like he did from all the others. 

The curtains were replaced over the window, but the light stayed on. More lights began to flicker on as Steve worked his way through the house, the surrounding forest beginning to illuminate. It was now or never. 

Billy turned off his lights and took his keys from the ignition. Opening the door, he swung one leg out and placed one foot on the ground before doing the same with the other. His body kept moving toward the door, an automaton, pre-programmed. His thoughts, however, were racing and streaking by so fast he couldn’t hold on to one long enough to process what he was thinking. His feet kept walking, one in front of the other. He tried to think of something to say for when Steve opened the door, but nothing came. His hands nervously fidgeted with the hem of his jacked. Should he start with an apology? Or maybe an explanation? Up one step, then another, then another. Maybe he should let Steve start. He was three steps from the door. Two steps. One step.

He watched his fist come up and rap on the door. 

A few minutes passed and Billy considered turning around and leaving, but then a rumpled Steve opened the door. He was in his boxers and socks, one was bunched around his ankle, the other pulled up. A hand was in his hair, his mouth agape in a yawn. 

“Um… hey,” Billy started lamely. 

Steve’s face screwed up in drowsy confusion. “Billy?”

“Yeah,” Billy answered, scrabbling for something to say. 

“It’s like, one a.m.”

“I know that, asshole.” A brief pause. “Look, if you don’t want me here I’ll just go sleep in some parking lot,” Billy huffed. 

“I never said that,” Steve retorted. “I’m just confused and tired, so check the attitude.”

Billy was at a loss. “Uh… yeah.”

“Now get your sorry ass in here, it’s cold as balls out here.” Steve stepped aside, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Tentatively, Billy stepped inside. 

The house hadn’t changed at all. The color of the walls, the coat hanger in the doorway, the welcome mat, even the artificial pine smell. The wave of relief and comfort that washed over Billy was instinctual, a warmth settling into his core and spreading to his fingers and toes. 

Out of a habit that Billy didn’t know he still had, he hung his jacket and placed his shoes beside one another beneath his jacket. 

“Look I’m—” Billy started. 

“I don’t want to hear it right now,” Steve interrupted. “We can talk in the morning.” Then he turned and trudged back up the steps. 

Bewildered, Billy wandered to the living room. It hadn’t changed either, same photos on the wall, same red rug, same cream-colored couches. Shimmying out of his jeans, Billy folded them and placed them on the coffee table before grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch. Getting comfortable, Billy took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Sleep consumed him quickly and for once, nightmares did not plague him.


	3. this was a home once

_ This was a home once _

_ All these years go by and I've been blind  _

When Billy woke the next morning it was still early; light was barely filtering through the French windows behind the couch. Stretching, Billy yawned and sat up, peering around the living room. Last night, he’d assumed nothing had changed, but now he saw that while all of the objects were the same, all were beginning to show wear. The couch he was sitting on had a few stains here and there, the paint was peeling along the corners, and the photos were all hanging a little crooked. The heart of a family home was there, but the presentation was long gone, like the tired smile of a mother or a well loved book. What caught Billy was that Steve was never really a part of that family. The stains on the couch were probably made when his parents weren’t home or Steve was in his bedroom. All the smiles in the photos on the walls look forced. Billy had seen Steve give him a real smile, teeth shining, eyes soft, and shoulders relaxed. Or his mouth was tight in aggravation but his eyes were still glowing with amusement. Or his eyes would dart over to Billy’s, he would flash a quick grin, then return to whatever he was doing. None of the Steves on the wall looked like that. 

Standing, Billy folded the blanket and returned it to its spot on the back of the couch. He shuffled to the kitchen, scratching his neck and running a hand through his hair before setting his sights on the coffee maker. He’d only made coffee once or twice at the Harrington’s, but he could still remember where the coffee was because they kept it in the freezer, which was really fucking weird. It was still there, the tin canister with the coffee scoop inside. Grabbing it from the freezer, Billy dumped the grounds in the machine, poured in the water, and put a clean filter in, and started it. As the coffee began to bubble into the pot, Billy heard footsteps on the stairs. Suddenly nervous, he was starting to regret not putting his jeans back on and what was he going to say when Steve came down? Was it weird he was making coffee? 

Turning just as Steve appeared in the doorway, Billy was hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. In his memory, it was closer to nine or ten in the morning, and the smell of coffee had been hanging in the air for a few minutes. Billy had been up for a little while so he decided to get up and do something nice for Steve for once. He’d made coffee, which must’ve been what roused Steve, because when he shuffled into the kitchen, he ignored Billy completely, retrieved a mug from the cupboard, and poured himself a steaming cup before even acknowledging Billy’s presence. When he did, though, he gave Billy a winning smile with eyes so soft Billy felt his insides melt a little. 

_ And as one chapter ends another chapter begins _

_ Now my life revolves around cliches I hated as a kid  _

Currently, though, the only look Steve gave Billy was one of exhaustion. He nudged past Billy, rinsed out a coffee cup, and plonked it down next to the coffee maker before leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. 

“So Hargrove,” Steve started. Billy sagged. Steve hadn’t called him Hargrove in that serious of a tone since before the summer of ‘85.

“Yeah, Harrington?”

“Why are you here?” He looked exasperated. Tired. Impatient. 

“I… I don’t know,” Billy answered. 

Steve gave him a look. “You can’t drive all the way out here without knowing.” Steve shifted, crossing one foot over the other. “Try again.”

Billy paused, staring at the floor tiles. They were linoleum and reminded Billy of old snow, dirty and halfway to being slush. When he looked back up at him, Steve had one eyebrow raised and his lips taught. 

“Neil, he…” Billy started, his eyes flitting away. “He came home drunk last night.” Billy found himself fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. “I got scared. I ran,” Billy finished shortly. 

Silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Steve spoke again. 

“That still doesn’t explain why you came here.” 

Billy forced his eyes to meet Steve’s again. “This… this is the only other place that’s ever felt anywhere close to a home. This is the only other place I felt I could go.”

Billy could’ve sworn that Steve’s eyes softened just a little, then. 

Maybe that golden summer hadn’t left him either. 

Steve broke eye contact first, scrunching his face and dragging a hand across it. Again, silence filled the space between them and Billy struggled to find any words to say. Everything sounded dumb or fake or like it wasn’t enough. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Steve,” Billy consented, the ache in his chest increasing. “I’ll just go.” As he started to get his things from the living room, a hand caught his bicep. 

“Wait.” The softness in Steve’s eyes had returned and his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. “At least have a cup of coffee first?”

Relief flooded Billy and spread through him like he had just taken a shot of whiskey. Steve’s hand was still on his arm as he replied: “Yeah. I’d like that.”

_ My sister's still young, I hate to see her face blue _

_ Though we can't control the rest one thing will always be true  _

Pouring himself a mug of coffee, Billy sipped at the searing liquid, watching Steve. He was still in his boxers and socks like when he’d opened the door and he didn’t look much different from what Bill remembered. His torso was still scattered with scars, all pale and jagged, marring the otherwise smooth skin. His hands were shakier though, the circles under his eyes darker. He seemed like he was surviving, but not living. But so was Billy. 

He wanted to reach out and touch him, feel their fingers interlock, brush his fingers across Steve’s cheek. It had been so long. Yet here he was again, right in front of Billy, almost like he’d never left. 

They sipped their coffee quietly, the only sounds coming from the coffee maker, the heater, and the sounds of the outside beginning to wake up. When Steve spoke, it was barely above a whisper, almost as to not break the reverie. 

“When you left, three years ago, was it because of me?”

Billy jerked his mug away from his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed. “No! No… God, no,” he sighed. Setting his cup down on the counter behind him, Billy buried his face in his hands. “Honestly, I don’t even remember what we were fighting about.” Billy slid his hands down his face and let them fall to his sides. “I left because of me, Stevie.” The nickname slid off his tongue so easily and with no hesitation. It surprised Billy, but it looked like it took Steve off guard too. 

“I tried to call you. I even talked to Max, thinking maybe she could get to you when I couldn’t. But I guess she never said anything. Whenever I called your house, you were never there.”

Billy could vaguely recall the one time Max mentioned Steve wanting to see him. The sky was dumping rain that night, and Billy was forced to go get Max from one of her friend’s houses even though she was supposed to be skating home already. By the time Billy intersected Max, she was already drenched from head to toe. Water was streaming from her hair and onto his car’s seats and she was shivering violently. Her lips were tinged blue and her hands shook as she closed the car door. He drove in silence for a while, letting Max defrost in the seat beside him. When she started speaking, he expected it to be about whatever her and her friends had been doing all night. Instead, the first word out of her mouth was “Steve.”

Billy didn’t hear many other words after that, only pieces of what he assumed Steve had told Max, but he couldn’t hear her over the words he had screamed at Steve that were repeating on loop in his head. 

“I usually wasn’t home, but Max tried to talk to me once,” Billy offered. 

Steve put his cup down gingerly, turning his back to Billy. Everything in him was urging him to wrap himself around Steve and never let go, even though deep down, he knew he shouldn’t get any closer. Still, it was Stevie, and Billy was weak. He took a step closer, cutting across a quarter of the space between them. 

“I should’ve tried harder,” Steve admitted, staring down into his mug. “I should’ve come to your house,” Billy took another step, “apologized even though I don’t know what I would be apologizing for and—”

Billy took another step forward and cut Steve off. “No, you shouldn’t have, I’m the one who should be saying sorry.” Steve twisted his head to look at Billy, his hands still firmly planted on the counter top. “I  _ am  _ sorry, Steve.”

A grin cracked the somber expression on his face, and his honey brown eyes cast sunbeams onto Billy. “I forgave you years ago.”


End file.
